My Dearest Cel
by LuteofLorien
Summary: Missing Celebrían, Elrond writes letters to her after she sails, even though he knows she'll never see them. These letters tell the tale of Elrond's grief, his family's struggle to pull together after their loss, and the attempts of their friends to help them through it.
1. Chapter 1

My Dearest Cel

 _A/N Something a little different from me this time! Recently, I've really enjoyed reading Elwen of the Hidden Valley's stories, and I was blown away by her characterisation of Elrond. So one thing led to another, and Elrond decided that he was going to sit in my imagination and stay there. Here's my version of the aftermath of Celebrían's sailing in the Peredhel household, told through letters Elrond writes to her but of course cannot send. There are currently five letters in this series which have a sort-of plot arc and resolution to them, and I'll be posting one every few days this coming week. I may write more in the future, moving away from the angstiness of the first letters to a more bittersweet diary style, perhaps with Elrond 'updating' Celebrían on what happens in her absence- Aragorn's adoption, for instance. Do let me know if you would be interested in that! Anyway, this first one is short and sweet, the ones to come are a bit longer._

 _A note on 'Cel': elves and nicknames are a marmite issue, I am aware! I apologise if anyone is offended by the shortening of Celebrían's name, but I decided that it really helped to convey the intimate bond between them, and I'm trying to show an Elrond beyond the loremaster here._

 _Many, many thanks to Elwen of the Hidden Valley, who not only wrote the marvellous Elrond fics which inspired this piece, but also kindly agreed to read this through and vastly improved it with her generous comments. Thanks also to Ink Stained Quill for your encouragement and enthusiasm for this piece._

 _Disclaimer: They are Tolkien's and always will be._

My dearest Cel,

It was raining when we returned to Imladris, as it has been almost incessantly ever since. I would usually soften the worst of it, but this year I have not the heart, not when the bleakness outside seems to weave itself into the lament of my soul. The valley misses you, Cel, and it cries the tears its master cannot. It seems that since we parted at the Havens, I have no tears left in me.

I am sorry, Celebrían. You have every right to loathe me, daring to write to you of my own sorrow after all that you have endured with so much grace. One more in a long list of my many, many mistakes. If you cannot forgive me, I understand.

But even if you cannot accept my apologies, I hope you will understand that you will always be a part of me, even now that our souls cannot touch as they once did. Where are you now, Cel? I cannot help but wonder. Even all my lore cannot tell me the length of the Straight Road you travel. Do you travel it still? Are you already in Valinor? I have imagined your journey so often that I feel I have travelled it with you a thousand times. And I pray that the path you travel is smooth and easy, that it surpasses my wildest hopes, that you are carried gently and tenderly to a place of rest and healing. I pray that it is nothing like my nightmares. I awake from visions of storm and shipwreck and then I hold vigil until the dawn, begging the Valar that nothing of the sort will come to pass. It does not feel the same as foresight usually does, but still I am terrified. So I pray. It is all I can do, although I would fight off the wrath of Ulmo himself to protect you if I could. But I am not there. Just as I was not there the last time you needed me. And I am so afraid that once again I will fail you by my absence.

Find home safely, Cel. Find home safely for both of us.

Love, always,

Elrond


	2. Chapter 2

_A/N Here's part two! Thank you so much to Shirebound, Sylvar Noriel and Oleanne for your reviews, and to everyone who followed and favourited. You all keep me writing and keep the inspiration flowing. Much love x_

My dearest Cel,

The house is too quiet. You would remedy that in an instant if you were here. You would whisper to Lindir and persuade him to sing that ditty he says is too simple for him but secretly loves. You would convince our children to ride with you and go flying across the valley, silver hair streaming out behind you like the tail of a comet. You would call out as you passed, sowing smiles among all those to whom you spoke. You would laugh, and in their burbling and gushing all the waterfalls of Imladris would laugh with you.

But you are not here, and that is the problem. They don't really know what to do with me. They tiptoe around me, ask me how I fare in hushed voices, as though I am some wounded animal they are careful not to provoke. Perhaps I have given them cause to behave thus. I see their expressions of concern when I return trays of food to the kitchen hardly touched, but I simply glare at them and they flee. They come to me with their hesitant proposals, thinly veiled stratagems to distract me- walks, minor tasks in the library, music- and I wave them off dismissively. You would scold me for that. 'It's not their fault', you would say, with your usual impeccable insight, 'don't take it out on them,' and you would put me firmly back in my place. I really do try. I see someone I've snapped at and apologise, but when they give me that pitying smile and shake their heads, as if they expected nothing more from me, I feel my hackles rise again and struggle to remain calm despite having only just apologised for my temper.

Glorfindel is behaving strangely. He believes it will be his duty to have a Talk About My Emotions soon and I don't think he's looking forward to it. Neither am I, to be honest. Over the past days he has kept himself at a respectful distance from me (Giving Me Space, he probably terms it) and I am grateful for that- I think. But he will not let this continue indefinitely and he has made some tentative moves towards talking about the fact that you have sailed; I think he's trying to assess my state of mind, attempting to ascertain whether I am ready to speak of it yet, but treading carefully so as not to upset me. Sometimes I consider initiating the conversation myself, just to put the poor fellow out of his misery, but I can never quite bring myself to do it. Of course he doesn't realise that I observe all this. He thinks he's being subtle. But he's nowhere near as subtle as he thinks he is, and you would find that highly amusing. I would laugh, if I could remember how.

You would always make us laugh at ourselves, when we started taking being the Balrog Slayer and the Lord of Imladris too seriously. Oh Cel, you would laugh at me now, closeted away in my candlelit study writing letters I'll never send. I see you in my mind's eye, slipping into the study without a sound but bringing such a force of love and compassion that you shatter the silence around my soul. You make a joke about waking the fell creature lurking in the dark as you draw back the drapes to let the starlight in, catching it in the silver of your hair as you let it flow past you, standing framed against the balcony. You ask me what detains me in the darkness but you do not press me when my only response is a sigh. We will talk about it later, but right now you simply prise my quill from my fingers and set it aside, then stand behind me and unbraid my hair. You release it from its immaculate arrangement and run your fingers through it, bringing tousled abandon to the tresses I have so carefully tamed. And then you sing the nonsense song about the valley which you are so taken with in your clear lilting soprano. And your joy is so infectious that I cannot help but join in the duet, and our voices lift in light and song in defiance of whatever had shadowed my heart that day.

Your husband is such a fool, Cel. I just caught myself staring at the door, firmly believing that it would open, and you would be at my side again, my starlight warrior ready to battle the darkness with me. But you closed the door of my study that night you left for Lothlórien and you never came back.

For it is truly you I write to, you the Cel who left me that fateful night, laughing at your overprotective husband who talked you into taking an extra guard just for a simple trip across the Misty Mountains. Not the shadow who came back in your place, the shadow who was walled up against the world, too wrapped up in hurt to let me in even to offer you healing. Of course I know that this letter will never find you. Perhaps I'm writing to a ghost. Or perhaps not even a ghost, a memory of a person who will never be again. But I hope not. I hope that you are still there, hiding in some stronghold behind the shadowy defences, and that in the Undying Lands you will emerge from those shadows when you find the place of rest and safety I could not give you here. Perhaps it is a vain hope, but it is all I have. So I will keep writing to you, my dearest Celebrían. Though it is rude of me, I will take the liberty of assuming that you wish me to continue. And if one day in the West, you wish to chide me for this lapse in courtesy, know that it will be the sweetest scolding I have ever received.

Love, always,

Elrond


	3. Chapter 3

_A/N Thanks so much for all your lovely comments on the last chapter! Yugiyasha96, Eliza61, Shirebound and Sylvar Noriel, it's wonderful to know what you think, your reviews are appreciated. On with the third instalment; this one is probably the bleakest of the set. Brace yourselves, angst ahead!_

My dearest Cel,

I cannot do this without you.

Ai, _Valar,_ and again I inflict my own misery upon you as if it counts for something. I am sorry. I should have been the one to give you solace and I failed. And now I come crawling to you in these letters begging succour. I do not blame you if you despise me- but I doubt that you could despise me more than I despise myself. Because it really is true. I cannot do this without you. You asked me, when there was a flash of the real you, just before you left, to carry on and get the children through this. And even in this I fail you. I do not wish to burden you with these tidings and confessions, but I have already failed you in so many ways, I will not add lying to you to that list, even if only by omission from these letters you'll never read. My honesty is all I can give you now, and I feel I must tell you what has transpired.

On our journey back we hardly spoke. There was nothing more to say. Perhaps I should have made the effort then, tried to break the walls that were already coming down between us. But I could not summon the strength and I thought, misguidedly, that there would be time later. So we rode in near silence, speaking only of the business of setting and breaking camp.

The silence between us only deepened when we returned, and it has not yet lifted. I did my best to talk to them, but finding safe topics was, and remains, near impossible. We cannot speak of you yet, our grief is too raw and we are all too shaken. I know this without even attempting it. Speaking of the future, making plans just feels wrong, almost like blasphemy to begin to suggest that the world might carry on without your light to grace it. So we can look neither back nor forward, and there is little in the present to cheer us. The valley itself is in mourning, drizzling monotonously, and the leaves are falling thick and fast. Ai, what is there to talk about when even the weather reminds us of our grief?

Arwen has withdrawn into herself. I miss her singing, which ceased when yours did with the exception of an occasional lament. She seems to be coping the best out of all of us, though. Despite the rain, she spends much of her time in your rose garden, nurturing it with infinite care. She pours her soul into maintaining the seeds of life you planted in this valley, making her remembrance of you a living thing to be cherished. It is too early to say, but I think this will bring her healing, in time. We do worry that being drenched so often will not help her body to strengthen at a time when her fëa has been badly shaken, but eventually she always allows herself to be shepherded inside by her attendants, dried off, given new robes and wrapped in warmed blankets. I am told that she is silent throughout these proceedings, apart from the occasional murmured word of thanks, but that she submits graciously to their attentions. Far more graciously than I do, at any rate; I cannot seem to control my tongue and scare off my well-wishers with my prickly demeanour.

I can see Elrohir and Elladan slipping away into a cycle of revenge and hatred. They intended to set out hunting soon after our return. At first I reasoned with them, told them to rest, told them that this was not what you would want. But as soon as I mentioned you, they retreated into themselves, allied themselves against me and would not hear my pleas as a father. So I ordered them as a lord. Forgive me, Celebrían. I know that you would not want that, either, but I could not bear for them to leave Imladris yet, when they need the healing to be found here more than ever. I feared that if I let them leave this time, I would lose them forever. Losing people seems to be a bad habit of mine, you see. I am so terribly afraid that I will lose them too, either to the violence of battle or to the ruthless warriors now invading the hearts of our noble sons.

They were so angry, mutinous, accusing me of not caring about what had befallen you. And I, Cel I am so sorry, but that shattered my control, and I accused them of the same, of not caring about remembering you as you were and of dishonouring your memory by drowning their sorrows in blood. They stormed out of the room and they have not spoken to me since. I spoke thus to these our sons, these hurting boys who miss their mother. I cannot express how much I regret those words. I have lived long enough to know not to speak rashly in anger, because words once spoken cannot be unsaid, but since you left I seem to have all the restraint of a fifty-year old elfling. I did not think that I could possibly wrong you further than I already have, but it seems I was mistaken. I dare not even beg your forgiveness, but I am deeply, deeply sorry. You have every right to despair of all three of us, Celebrían. Accusing each other of not caring enough because none of us will admit that we care too much.

As the oldest and wisest in theory if not in practice, the responsibility of being the first to make that admission falls to me. I have tried to approach them, but they flee from my presence, understandably, and now I must wait until they are ready to speak to me. To their credit, they did not leave to hunt. They did not disobey a direct order from their lord, however much they resent their father. But they spar in the Warriors' Hall from dawn until dusk, eating only when absolutely necessary from trays they order from the kitchens. I watch them from the gallery, sometimes, and they are utterly formidable. I think they fight with all the more ferocity when they know I am there, as if they are trying to prove themselves to me. But they do not understand, they refuse to accept that my greatest fear is not that they are soft warriors, but that they will develop hard hearts. I have tried to explain this to them, but they use their anger like a shield against the sorrow and relinquishing it will mean opening themselves up to grief and pain, so they resist me when I suggest that they do so.

So there it is, Cel. You asked me to be strong for our children but I have made a complete mess of it. I really cannot do this without you and I have no idea how I'm going to make this right.

Love, always, from one who never deserved you,

Elrond


	4. Chapter 4

_A/N Many thanks to regular reviewers Sylvar Noriel, Eliza61 and Shirebound. You're all fantastic and the encouragement is much appreciated. Spotlight on our favourite Balrog Slayer for the fourth letter!_

My dearest Cel,

Glorfindel gave up being subtle. He's not very good at 'subtle', as you know well, so it was a great relief when he finally stopped trying. Today he barged into my study, hauled me to my feet without a word, steered me through the gardens by my shoulders, deposited me on a bench under a colonnade in a secluded corner, pressed a glass of wine into my hand and instructed me to start talking. Though I will confess I was a little dazed at the time, I still managed to find it rather impressive. Indeed, I believe had he done that to the Balrog, he would have saved himself the fight, death and resurrection and instead he would have been treated to a tearful confession about whatever traumatises little Balrogs; though I'd imagine that experience would be no less painful. Sorry, Cel. Now I'm just being silly. You used to laugh at my tendency to distract myself when I'm overwrought, among many other things. Whatever will I do without you to laugh at me, Cel? I'll get far too pompous without your gentle reminders that even the Master of Imladris is sometimes slightly ridiculous. You'll have quite a job on your hands when I am finally free to sail West. And I can anticipate no greater joy than finally being taken down a peg or three then.

But I digress, again. I was telling you about Glorfindel's rather unorthodox therapeutic technique. It worked. I talked. He didn't really give me the option to do otherwise. It was easier than I thought it would be and once I started it was hard to stop. I told him that the twins continue to avoid me at all costs, and I fail repeatedly to get through to them, and Arwen too seems more distant than ever. I told him I'm lost without you and I feel like I'm falling apart. I was close to despair so many times in the past year, when I couldn't find your hiding place among the shadows. But it wasn't like this emptiness. You were still in Imladris, or at least the shadow that shrouded you, which meant you still trusted me to heal you. So I still had hope that I might be able to find you and draw you back from your despair. But I failed, and now you're gone, and I don't understand how life can just carry on without you. I can't even find solace in the stars any more because Eärendil just reminds me that the constant refrain of my life has been people I love being hurt and then leaving me behind. And I feel so guilty that I'm writing this to you. I know you need peace in the West more than you need me. As a healer and your husband, I should be happy that you're going to find it, and I am, but I miss you terribly and I still cannot see how in Arda I'm going to put myself back together after this.

I told Glorfindel all of this. I felt strangely detached, the healer's part of my mind sagely acknowledging that a burdened fëa may be helped towards healing by sharing its sorrows. I think Glorfindel was expecting me to weep, but I did not. I wonder if I should have done. I feel vaguely guilty about that, and I'm not entirely sure why. But then again, I seem to feel vaguely guilty about everything nowadays.

After a rather unconventional beginning, Glorfindel was exemplary. He heard my ramblings more patiently than I deserved, asking quiet questions to encourage me to delve deeper into my feelings. He offered neither judgement nor solutions, just listened. And of course, he did his best to convince me that none of this was my fault. Flawless logic, as you would expect from him, and it was impossible to argue so I wearily agreed. Theoretically there are good reasons why I should not consider myself responsible for what happened to you. It's just that none of them make sense to my heart. Glorfindel wasn't fooled by my acquiescence, of course, and he knew that he hadn't convinced me, but he didn't press it. He just told me that it would take time for me to work this out and he would do whatever he could to help. I thanked him, and it felt so inadequate, just a few words to express my gratitude to him for sticking with me when I need him most, even though inexplicably I keep trying to isolate myself and lick my wounds alone. I think he understood though, and I even got one of his rare hugs.

That was something else you used to laugh about: how reserved we always were with each other despite a friendship spanning many _yéni_. Do you remember just after the twins were born, when he came to visit us in our rooms? I beckoned him in and we just stood there, gripping forearms and smiling at each other. Then you called to us from the bed, an elfling in the crook of each arm, weary amusement in your voice as you despaired of male elves and our precious reserve and asked if we needed you to have triplets before we could allow ourselves to actually hug each other properly. You would have been proud of us today. Glorfindel dislikes fighting shadows that can't be destroyed with a sword and you know all too well how uncomfortable I am admitting that this healer sometimes needs healing himself. I think we both managed today with the help of what you taught us. You still astonish me, Cel, even now. You left the Havens four weeks ago and I'm still discovering the gifts you left in Imladris. Your blessing will linger in this valley as long as its inhabitants do not give in to despair. I think I'm beginning to realise that now.

So I let him hug me, and I hugged him back, and it was a very good hug. Not the brief, slightly awkward tangle of arms we managed at your prompting and to your exasperation that day we introduced Glorfindel to the twins. It was natural and long and lovely, a real brotherly embrace that brought me comfort I thought I'd never know again and certainly don't deserve. I can imagine your delighted and slightly amused expression if you had seen it. 'About time!' you would say. You left your husband in good hands. I only hope that you will be cared for with as much love and more wherever you are now.

I told him everything. Well, not quite everything. I didn't tell him about these letters. I considered it, but I was strangely reluctant. It's not that I feared his scorn, I know he would have understood- in fact, he would probably have encouraged me to keep writing them- but in the end I didn't. It feels right that this is just between you and me. It can be our last little secret to share.

May you find healing and rest and joy, Celebrían. May the Valar smile upon you and may you walk ever in the light.

Love, always,

Elrond


	5. Chapter 5

_A/N And here we are! The last of the letters I currently have written, which should hopefully bring things to a satisfying resolution. Also bonus points if you spot the minor punctuation detail in this one and guess where I got it from! I may come back to this at some point in the future and write some more, in effect Elrond telling Celebrían about Imladris life after she sails, perhaps giving her his thoughts on young Estel, the finding of the Ring etc. Let me know if that would interest you! But I have other WIPs I want to consider at the moment so for now, I think this is a good place to leave them._

 _Many thanks to Yugiyasha96, Shirebound, Sylvar Noriel and Eliza61 for sticking with this fic, it's wonderful to have shared this with you. All the best xxx_

My dearest, Cel,

You won't be surprised to hear that it was Arwen who managed it, in the end. Arwen who brought us all back together, as she always does. She has inherited your talent for intimidating three stubborn peredhel males and making us all hang our heads like scolded elflings. As well as your talent for binding up the rifts between people and reminding us all of what is really important. Even in her grief she remembers that, even when the rest of us forget, and even though I thought she had retreated into herself, she noticed what was wrong and made it right.

You would be so, so proud of her. No, not 'would be'- I know that you are proud of Arwen, and our sons too, wherever you may be. And thus, being proud of our children is something we can still share. I find great comfort in that.

And I think that you will find the way she did it most amusing. I can almost hear the two of you giggling together as she tells you the story. She came into my study this morning and asked me to hold some climbing rose stems for her while she tied them into their frame. I should have known then that there was something more to it: we raised a daughter who is more than a match for your average rosebush and would ordinarily be furious if anyone dared to suggest she needed help with such a task. But all that registered with me at first was that my daughter was reaching out at last and for that, I would do anything she wanted. So I could not deny her this, even though I was apprehensive about going into your garden so soon; before today I could not bring myself to do it. I had told myself at first that I just wanted to give Arwen her privacy, as she seemed to have adopted the garden as her space to think. But we both know that Arwen would have welcomed me with open arms had I wanted to remember you with her there. Truth be told, it was really because the place is so saturated with memories of you as you used to be that, after the past few months, going there would tear open all the wounds in my aching soul. You're arching your eyebrows at me now: 'and tell me, O wise healer, is it not sometimes necessary to re-open wounds so that they do not fester?' I know, Cel, I know that, but now I find I must count myself among the patients who dread the pain of the experience even so.

My reluctance notwithstanding, Arwen asked me, so I went. She ushered me through the arched wooden door with a sad sort of smile that told me she saw the hesitation in my steps and she knew the reason for it, but she wanted me to carry on all the same. And because of that, because I could never deny my daughter anything she wanted (how you used to tease me for that!), I went in. It was even more beautiful than I remembered. And then it became clear to me why Arwen brings her sorrows here. All this rain has nourished your roses so that they are growing with reckless abandon, pushing forth their glossy leaves, and the late-flowering ones are blooming everywhere and scattering their petals in benediction across the rain-soaked earth. Here the sorrows of the valley, the rain and mist that have marked everything since you left, are absorbed and turned into life. Today it was only drizzling mildly, and each leaf and bloom was delicately crystallised by the tiny raindrops settling on their surface.

I was speechless with the sheer beauty of it, and with the onslaught of memories of sitting with you here in starlit nights and sunny days, singing with you, laughing with you, making plans for our family with you, and all I could do was stare around me as the memory of your presence made your absence ache like a knife in my chest. Then just as I thought that I could not bear to be in this place any longer, could not bear the crowding of so many memories around me, and felt the urge to turn on my heels and flee, Arwen slipped her hand into mine. She led me to the roses sprawling against the wall, throwing their stems out wildly after their latest spurt of growth. Capturing one of those stems in her deft fingers, she handed it to me and then set to work. It became easier, just to concentrate on the mechanics of stem and wood and wall, to focus on my hands and not on the tidal wave of memory and grief held back by the straining dam in my mind. And it felt so good to be working in concert with Arwen, to hold the stem in place while she secured it to its support against the wall, to seize on a little crumb of togetherness which our family has not tasted for so long. Too soon, she was telling me that she needed another mantle, and bidding me stay while she fetched it, and leaving me to continue the work alone. I was gladdened by her concern for her own welfare, although I could not help feeling a little bereft once she had gone. So, a little slower now alone, I continued with the task, doing my utmost to prevent my mind from picking at the scar your absence has left on my heart, to concentrate on these growing things which must be tended and nothing else.

I think you can guess where this is going, can you not, Cel? Arwen did return with another mantle- scrupulously honest, as we raised her to be- but also with two brothers. They entered first, but froze on the threshold when they saw me, looking as if they were on the point of bolting. Not that I can blame them, given our last encounter. Perhaps they would have left immediately, but with a hand at the small of the back of each brother, Arwen nudged them forwards and they did not seem inclined to resist, though they came into the garden only as far as was absolutely necessary. Then she gave a pair of scissors to Elladan and a ball of twine to Elrohir and returned to stand by the door. And I will give you her exact words, Celebrían, because she was sublime and I want you to be able to imagine this.

She told us, 'You see the Carnin Annûn on the north wall which needs to be secured. Adar has already begun on that. Then there is all the Iavas Los in the far bed to be tied in as well. I expect that done when I return, and I expect you not to damage a single petal- or each other.' (1) Then she fixed us all in turn with her gaze, and ai, it broke my heart how she reminded me of you in that moment. That look which somehow manages to be sharp, saying, I expect more from you, Elrond Peredhel, yet also so full of understanding that it feels as if my soul is being read like a book. You have pinioned me with that look more often than I care to say, and you know that it leaves me utterly defenceless. Then, in a swish of skirts and gleaming hair, she disappeared and closed the door. And then there was the click of a key turning in a lock.

So, you know what happened, then, and you are shaking your head and laughing that your hopeless trio of ellyn needed to be locked in a walled garden by Arwen in order to force us to talk to each other. Or perhaps you are weeping for our foolishness. Perhaps both. For a long moment, none of us moved. Then Elladan dropped the scissors, rushed to the door and tried to open it. And tried again. And then pushed and pulled at the handle until the door was shaking on its hinges. I wanted so badly to tell him to stop, that I could not abide violence in this place, not here. But I knew I had forfeited my right to his respect by losing my temper and did not wish to antagonise him needlessly before I had apologised, so for once, I held my tongue. Elrohir stepped in then, to my relief, told him that he might break it and he couldn't bear it if they damaged your garden. Elladan glowered at him but stopped shaking the door and instead started slapping his open palm on it, shouting for Arwen, telling her to stop her ridiculous games and release us. But his ranting produced no effect, not even the faintest hint of a chuckle from the other side of the door, so eventually he was forced to admit defeat. Arwen had locked us in. And she had left us here.

Elladan sank down with his back against the door and buried his head in his hands. Elrohir simply stood where Arwen had left him, frowning down at the ball of twine in his hands as though it were a puzzle he couldn't solve. I was still kneeling alongside the rose I had been tying. So there we all were. I had been waiting for this moment for so long, for the moment when I could finally get my chance to talk to them and make amends. I had planned out what I was going to say, how sorry I was about the words that escaped me in anger, how I had let my emotions get the better of me because I was not in control of my own grief, that I knew how they love you and that they do honour you, that I understood why they felt the need to hunt but that I was terrified of losing my two wonderful sons to the closed-off hard-hearted warriors I sometimes see rearing up in their eyes. And I had them there, a literally captive audience. But they were both very studiously not looking at me. And I opened my mouth to speak but the words died on my lips, and I realised that nothing I had intended to say was going to work.

So I didn't use any of the speech I had so carefully planned, and the words I said instead came instinctively before I could overthink them. I called softly to Elladan, and I asked if he would mind helping me to tie in a rose. He stared at me for a moment as if I had gone mad, and I held my breath. Then, very slowly, he made his way across the garden and knelt opposite me, still eyeing me as if I were a wounded warg liable to attack at any moment. Lately, I suppose I have not done much to dispel that impression. I handed him the short pieces of twine in my hands, held the stem steady, and fought the mad urge to exclaim in joy as, still carefully avoiding looking at me, he tied in the rose with the infinite gentleness I knew was hiding somewhere behind the angry shell of his grief. Elrohir watched us both guardedly as we wordlessly moved onto the next plant, and I held it aside as Elladan tied it in. Then, just as I had hoped, Elladan asked his brother if he could cut us some more twine, and Elrohir actually smiled, if only fleetingly, picked up the scissors, and joined us.

We went on like that for some time, speaking little and then only of the task in hand, but it was a start and it was a beautiful one. As we neared the end of our first set of roses, one of the stems Elrohir was holding out of the way slipped out of his grasp and snagged on my sleeve. I thought nothing of it, and went to disentangle myself, but suddenly another hand was pulling mine away, stopping me from dealing with it. I looked up in surprise to find Elladan beside me, carefully removing the thorny stem from my robes himself and then handing it back to Elrohir. Finally, Elrohir made eye contact with me, and he said, very quietly, 'I'm sorry, Adar.' And I knew he was referring to far more than the rose stem, so I looked at both of them and said, 'I'm sorry, too.'

And that was it. That was all we needed. There was so much more we left unsaid, but we all knew how much lay behind that little exchange. And I could see the apology written clearly in Elladan's eyes as well, although it was his brother who voiced it. We acknowledged each other with a nod and then by wordless agreement, returned to our work, in a quiet which was much less strained this time.

Perhaps it was the unexpected lack of tension with my sons which freed my mind to walk the path of memory again, despite the pain it brought me. Eventually, I found myself kneeling by the last of the plants we had been assigned, about to tie its stem to the support, and unbidden the memory surged in my mind, the memory of you and I planting the first roses together in this garden. I could see the quirk of your brow as you told me I'd need to dig the hole deeper than that, asking me whether the root structure of roses was a gap in this loremaster's knowledge. I could hear you singing, both of us singing, a hymn to Yavanna asking her to bring life and strength and beauty to these plants. And then I could feel your hands atop mine as we firmed the soil around the young plant, feel your breath tickling in my ear as you whispered that I could press down harder, the plant would not break. I looked down at my hands, wildly hoping to see them pressing soil around a young rose with your slender fingers resting lightly on top. Instead, of course, my hands were alone. They were in the middle of tying a mature rose plant to a support, they had paused in the middle of a knot, and they were trembling.

I'm still not sure why that was my breaking point. The memories of you have nearly overwhelmed me so many times in the past days and I have always been able to breathe through it and carry on. But perhaps, today, I couldn't bring myself to care about being strong, carrying on, blocking it out. And maybe the wisdom buried beneath many layers of foolishness, the wisdom you could always dig out of me, told me that the last thing my sons need now is a father who keeps pretending to be strong. So, at last, I gave in, dropped the twine, and wept. It appears that I did have some tears left in me, after all. And once they started flowing, they didn't stop.

I was dimly aware of Elrohir's presence beside me, finishing the task I had not been able to complete with his swift, steady hands. He stayed kneeling there by my side once he had done it and reached out to rest his hand on my leg. The rose gave slightly as Elladan released it, and then another hand appeared on my shoulder. I glanced around to see the tears flowing thick and fast from both our sons' eyes, and I covered each of their hands with one of mine. And so we reached the end of all our attempts to put it off, and we let ourselves be overwhelmed by the sorrow of the fact that we have lost you and you will not be coming back.

We stayed there for a long time, like statues apart from sounds of our sobs, and it was thus that Arwen found us, frozen in our tableau of grief. She approached us silently, tears streaming down her own face, then took Elladan's hand and gently pulled him down so that they were both kneeling opposite Elrohir and me. Her other hand found Elrohir's, and there we all were, kneeling on the ground among your roses, weeping for you, missing you, facing it together as we should have done right from the start.

I hope that this has not upset you. I do not want you to add our griefs to your own. Rather, I hope that you will see from this how much you are missed and how very dearly you are loved. Do you know that, Cel? In the past months, I told you over and over again, repeated it when you woke from the nightmares, that you are surrounded by those who love you with everything our hearts can give. But there was a dullness in your eyes and it was as if you couldn't hear me, and that was the most painful thing of all, to see you wander, lost and alone, believing yourself unloved when nothing could be further from the truth. Do you know it now, Celebrían? Have the Undying Lands allowed you to remember that you are so precious to so many people? I hope that is the case. If I could tell you of our love just once more, if I could know that you believe it, see that spark of trust in your eyes just one more time, then even this separation might be easier to bear. But I cannot tell you, except in these letters you will never read, or know if you believe me, and I must simply trust and hope that you do.

Today has not resolved everything, not by a long way. The twins have not asked my permission to hunt yet, but I know they will soon, though at the moment there is a kind of truce around the matter. I think I shall have to let them go, in the hope that those beautiful souls we watched grow will withstand whatever violence is unleashed around them and not be consumed by it. But there was healing for us all today in grieving for you together in your favourite place. All because Arwen has the good sense to know when her male relatives need to be locked in together and given a simple job to do. There is so much of you in her, and so much of her grandmother too, as well as a kind of quiet spark that is all her own. She reminded me today that the Valar give even as they take away. I thought that I could not endure them taking you away, but perhaps, with the gift of Arwen and the twins alongside me, I just might.

Oh, and I nearly forgot to tell you! Just when we had cried ourselves out, the drizzle finally ended and a pale ray of sunshine pierced the clouds. It is as though, now my tears have finally come, the valley no longer needs to weep in my stead. Perhaps that is oversimplifying the matter, but there is still so much I do not understand about the connection between this valley, Vilya and myself. However it happened, it was a beautiful moment. The droplets covering your rosebushes caught the sunlight and gleamed with miniscule rainbows, and I could see from their faces that the children shared my joy in this, shared my tiny, persistent feeling that perhaps there is light on the other side of darkness, after all.

Love, always, in the fervent hope you believe that,

Elrond

(1) My invented Sindarin names for species of rose, Crimson Sunset and Autumn Snow respectively


End file.
